The Flim-Flam

Reading old newspaper accounts is an interesting way to pass the time.  I have accumulated many stories which I have photocopied from the original papers, or via clippings which have been mailed to me from family and friends.  One of the most faithful people to keep me in the loop is my cousin, Betty Mesler.  A packet of articles and clippings, along with her personal note or letter, arrives in my mailbox on a regular basis. 

Occasionally, there is an “old time” rendering of the news of the day.  These articles are very interesting to read for their detail (or lack thereof), flowery phrases and uncommon words, or simply the mental images they create in my head.  Sometime ago, Betty forwarded to me one such article, published in 2004.  It originally appeared in either the Urbana or Marysville (probably the latter) newspaper; there is no notation in the margins as to which paper printed the story.  I share it here in its entirety.

 

 

One Hundred Years Ago: May 28, 1904

A band of gypsies, with five or six wagons, were in the city Monday afternoon, telling fortunes and picking up a few old pennies.  They encamped for the night on the North Lewisburg road.  One of the women of the outfit worked a little flim-flam game on Liveryman Ed Berger which came near costing him a fifty dollar bill.

On the pretext of telling his fortune, the woman asked for a piece of paper money claiming that it would aid her in reading his fortune.  Mr. Berger, without thinking of the consequences, took a roll of bills from his pocket and the first one off was a fifty dollar note.  The woman held this in here hands while telling the fortune, and also requested his handkerchief in which she tied several knots, probably for the purpose of getting his mind off the money.  On leaving she told him not to untie the knots until an appointed hour in the evening.  Like most persons who submit to fortune tellers, Mr. Berger was rather amused by his experience, but in counting his money a few minutes after the fortune teller departed he was surprised to find the fifty dollar bill missing.

He sought the assistance of Marshal Murphy and they overhauled the woman on West Fourth Street, as she was about to rejoin the other gypsies.  The money was demanded but instead of being confused, the woman turned upon Mr. Berger with a declaration that the bill was in his pocket.  With a deftness that surprised him, she whisked the handkerchief out of his pocket and went through the operation of untying the knots, at the conclusion of which she exposed the bill to view. 

Neither Mr. Berger nor Marshal Murphy was able to say whether the money had been in the handkerchief or whether the woman outwitted them by merely pretending to extract it from the knot.  The owner was satisfied to get the bill in his hands and did not waste any time with apologies or asking foolish questions.

 

A Horse Is A Horse, Of Course, Of Course...

This is a photograph of my great-grandmother, Ida Catherine Bruner Coleman (1860-1943) with one of the many horses she trained or used over the course of her lifetime.  She was an experienced, no-nonsense trainer, who had a tremendous love of and appreciation for horses.  She had learned her skills while working on her parents' (Daniel and Margaret Coleman) farm in Concord Township, Champaign County.  She increased those skills because she had to do so after the early death (age 33) of my great-grandfather, James William Coleman, in 1893.  Ida was a widow for fifty years.  She raised six children...an exceptionally independent woman for all of her adult life.

 

Why write of my great-grandmother, horses, and Concord Township in this blog site which is dedicated to memories of people, places, and times "Along Spain Creek"?  My reasons are relatively simple:  while recently reading yet another book about the Civil War, I suddenly became curious as to how important horses were in that conflict.  I began an immediate search of the Internet for facts and figures regarding horses, and was truly amazed to find all of the information which was available.  I...born in the age of automobiles, trains, and airplanes...suddenly realized how vital horses were  not only in the Civil War but throughout American history.  I had failed to recognize these facts because I had had little exposure to the work-a-day world of horses as part of the budding United States.

 

At the start of the Civil War, there were approximately 6 - 7 MILLION horses and mules in the United States, spread out unevenly across the country.  The states which made up the Union had nearly twice as many horses and mules as were to be found in the Confederate states.  But, the horses in the North were primarily draft animals...horses which were hitched to plows, carts, wagons, buggies, ambulances, fire-fighting equipment and such.  Farm boys and men, drivers and teamsters gained skills in training, using, and caring for these creatures. These horses and mules labored to till the soil, to pull heavy loads, or to transport people and goods from one point to another.  In the South, the horses were primarily bred for sport...for speed and stamina in racing.  As a result, there were many thoroughbreds to be found there.

 

Buyers on both sides of the political fence scrambled to purchase horses and mules with the outbreak of the war.  The average price for a government-purchased horse was about $150 in 1861 dollars.  The North purchased over 800,000 horses and mules to pull wagons, ambulances, artillery pieces, and for mounted officers and cavalry.  These animals were sent to training similar to what boys and men might have found.  Horses and mules were trained to respond to commands, to avoid panic when exposed to rifle and artillery fire, and to literally pull their own weight.  They were expected to pull up to 3,000 pounds, on a daily ration of 14 pounds of hay and 12 pounds of grain...if the hay and grain could be found.  If not, the animals required extensive meadows of green grass.

 

Many of the men from the South went forth to battle on their own horses, which they had trained.  These were generally sleek, fast horses.  Rations for these horses were generally readily available until shortages developed in the mid-course of the war. 

 

Many horses and mules were killed in battle...some estimates suggest that over a million of these animals were killed during the Civil War.  While many died of gunshot wounds, or as a result of artillery fire, most died of diseases.  Glanders was one such contagious disease which often killed scores and even hundreds of horses before or after battles.

 

Imagine the horrific odors which must have permeated the air around army encampments or battlefields!  The smell of illness, decay, and death...in addition to the odors normally associated with the animals' excrement.  And, add to this the vast clouds of smoke from the black-powder rifles and artillery pieces and the grass fires which were caused by these explosives.

 

While many horses and mules perished during the Civil War, others were more fortunate...especially the horses of famous war leaders.  "Stonewall" Jackson's horse, Little Sorrel, survived the general by about 20 years.  "Traveler," the faithful steed owned by Robert E. Lee, died at about age 15-16.  General Ulysses S. Grant (reputed to be one of the best of horsemen) was astonishingly offered $10,000 for his horse, "Cincinnati."  Grant did not sell the horse.

 

Boys and men, both Union and Confederate veterans, returned home after the war to resume their lives and associations with horses.  The horses and mules were there to till the farms, to pull the trolleys, to help build the great Transcontinental Railroad.  They were harnessed to the carts and wagons to move goods from farms to rail heads.  They were likewise harnessed to the carriages which paraded up and down the main streets of towns and cities.

 

My great-grandmother Ida relied on her horses.  She taught her sons and daughters to appreciate the animals' traits, strengths and weaknesses.  I am grateful for that legacy.

 

 

Grandpa William Smith Coleman (one of Ida's sons) and friend, about 1935.

 



 

Lillian Coleman (Simpson), James William Coleman, and Ralph Lowell Coleman, and friend, about 1925.

 

 

 

Ralph Lowell Coleman, Betty Coleman, JoAnn Coleman, Larry Coleman, and Ronnie Coleman, about 1940.

Five Years Is A Long, Long Time

My good friend, Bob White, died of pancreatic cancer on February 15, 2008...five years ago.  Five years is a long, long time to pass without a friend.  About this time of year I get very melancholy; I miss his letters and cards, I miss his telephone calls, I miss traveling back to Ohio to spend time with him at county fairs.  While sitting by the fireplace this afternoon, on the eve of the anniversary of his death, I closed my eyes for a few moments.  I pictured Bob's face...it almost always featured a broad, sheepish smile.  In his latter years, his face was highlighted by a balding head, thick sideburns, and bushy mustache.   I could recall his voice - that slow-paced, Ohio country drawl that was often broken up by his laughter, and which brought a reddish cast to his face.

 

I remembered that Jill, his step-daughter, had written an e-mail to me about this time last year.  I got up from my easy chair beside the fireplace and moved to my work desk.  I searched through my disorganized files, and found a printed copy of Jill's e-mail.  I read through it again, and found myself both laughing and crying.

 

I thought it would be a good idea to share it with you here.  If you knew Bob, the stories will underscore your memories of him.  If you didn't know Bob, the stories which Jill shares speak volumes about his character, his wit, and his concern for his family and friends.

 

I must apologize to Jill in advance.  I've edited her tales here just a bit for the sake of clarity, and because she wrote that I was "a talented writer..."

 

The Clock

 

"I was able to spend a lot of time with Bob at his house during his last three weeks.  I spent one week there alone, while awaiting the arrival of his daughter Molly.  Molly was in the military, and had not yet been given leave to return home.  From the time I arrived, all Bob wanted to talk about was who was entitled to what when he was gone.  I told him that all I wanted was his "BH Enterprise" baseball cap (I had been after that hat for twenty years!)

 

Bob pointed to a clock, and asked me if I wanted it.  It was a cute wall clock which he had purchased at Wal-Mart.  It was long, and narrow, with the clock face at the top, and a picture of Black Lab puppies playing beneath it.  I examined the clock, but it wasn't working.  Bob said that the clock had not worked for a long period of time.  He had tried everything to get it to work, but had been unsuccessful.  I told him that the clock was cute...but I didn't need a clock that didn't work.

 

Over the course of the next week or so, many friends and relatives visited Bob in his home.  He asked each and every one of them if they wanted that non-working clock.  No one accepted the offer.

 

During that week Bob went from being ambulatory to only occasionally getting out of his bed to go to the bathroom.  He was having a very difficult, painful time as the cancer progressed.  He was at first embarrassed to have me help him get to and from the bathroom, but gradually overcame his discomfort at needing to be helped. 

 

Molly arrived at the house, and helped with many of the duties of caring for her father.  I watched Bob, and listened to their many conversations as he tried to give that old, non-functioning clock to her.  Molly and I worked as a team while caring for Bob's many needs.  The three of us shared moments of laughter, tears, anger and frustration. 

 

The Raccoon Trap

 

Late one night, Molly and I were talking about the day's events.  Suddenly, we heard noises coming from the old partial-basement...a creepy, dirt hole under the oldest part of the house.  The noises continued for some time, so Molly and I decided to investigate.  She grabbed a flashlight, and off we went.  Molly opened the basement door, and we slowly crept half-way down the steps.  Molly shined the flashlight all around.  Neither of us saw anything...and we had already subconsciously decided that we were not going any farther into the pit.  We quickly retreated back up the stairs.  Fortunately, we did not hear any more noises that night.

 

The next day we asked Bob about the noises.  He told us that he had set a trap there because he was certain a raccoon had been getting into the basement.  When Bob's brother Tom came to visit later that day, Bob asked him to go gown into the basement and to check the trap.  Tom did so, and found the trap empty. 

 

That evening, I was teasing Bob about the empty raccoon trap. Unexpectedly, Bob became very angry, and yelled at me.  Bob could see that my feelings were hurt.  Later he apologized to me, and told me that he had only gotten angry because he was unable to do anything about the raccoon.  He had always been able to take care of things around the house and farm, but now he was incapable of doing things. 

 

A few days later, Bob had a really great day.  He was able to visit with his grandchildren, Jake and Lizzie.  They gave him some valentines early.  It was a beautiful evening...the last Bob would share with his grandchildren.

 

On the morning of February 15th, Bob passed away.  Molly and I were at his side.  Later that afternoon, I traveled to North Lewisburg to stay at my brother's home.

 

Molly called me on the phone about 6 p.m. that evening.  She asked me if I had messed around with that old clock, or if I had possibly changed the batteries.  I told her no, that I had not handled the clock, and asked her why she was interested.  To my surprise, Molly told me that the clock was running...it was not displaying the correct time...but the clock was running!  My brother, his family, and I drove to Bob's house.  We were amazed to see the clock was working.  I believe that it was one of Bob's ways of telling us that he was fine and would see us all again some day.

 

Later that same evening, Tom White returned to the house.  He went down into that dark, dirty basement and found the raccoon dead in the trap!

 

I left the area a few days after the funeral to return to my own home...without the clock.  Now, I regret that I did not take that old clock home with me."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two Gentle Men and A Lady

I do appreciate the e-mails, notes, cards, letters and newspaper clippings which I receive here in Utah from my family and friends - and sometimes complete strangers - back in Ohio.  I do not get to return home for visits as I frequently did "once upon a time," so it is nice that people keep me in the loop to let me know what changes transpire there.

Sadly, sometimes the news is not as enjoyable.  I dread those messages which tell of the passing of familiar faces - people who walked the streets of our hometown.  Recently, the community has suffered several losses.

Robert "Bob" Davis, Sr., was a true gentleman and gentle man.  He settled in town after World War II, raised a nice family, and was active in community affairs - especially those having to do with veterans.  He was quiet, but outspoken when the situation called for it.  He gave much to the community but requested little in return.  His presence will be missed at the veterans gatherings and in the homes of his extended family.

 

Robert "Bob" Henry was another gentleman and gentle man...although some recipients of his sharp wit and occasionally sharp tongue might disagree.  He was very community-minded, and put his many skills (carpentry was just one of them) to work for the betterment of the town.  He took his responsibilities as caretaker of the Woodstock Cemetery very seriously, and did much in the course of his work there to restore it.   He was a dedicated veteran, who worked tirelessly to honor and respect others who had likewise worn a military uniform. 

 

Elaine Pennington was a lady who earned a tremendous local reputation as a singer.  Her voice graced church choirs, and added exceptional meaning to the funerals of numerous townspeople over the years.  (She sang my Mom's favorite hymn at Mom's funeral in 1980).  She had a wonderful sense of humor, and could often best the boys' jokes at the morning gatherings over coffee at Benedict Hardware.  She was a loyal Triad High School "Cardinals" fan, and a great mother.

 

These three people, and so many others like them, are what "hometowns" are all about.  I love those "dear hearts and gentle people" who live and love in MY hometown.

 

 

Jolly Old Nick

No, this blog has nothing to do with that character in red, Jolly Old St. Nick, whose presence is so prevalent at this time of year.

 

I want to use this space to send a special get-well wish to my old Spain Creek buddy, Mike "Nick" Chamberlain, who is recovering from surgery undergone earlier in the month.  His wife Peggy reports that he is doing well.

 

Mike (when we were kids he preferred to be called "Nick") and I go back a long, long ways.  We have been pals since Spain Creek was just a trickle.  We shared elementary, junior high, and high school experiences, as well as adventures in Boy Scout Troop 87 and the old Viking Patrol.  We were novice CBers together, 'back in the day when CB radio was the "in" thing.  We loved listening to shortwave radio receptions of overseas radio stations, and stringing thin antenna wire from his house to his Dad's garage.  We worked together for a few years at the old Arthur's IGA market on Sycamore Street.  We loved annoying our mothers with our frequent absences from our homes and assigned duties.  And he was the driver of my old '54 Plymouth from the time I bought it until I got my driver license.  It was fun to be pals, and to live all of those many wonderful experiences along Spain Creek.

 

Over the years, he has sometimes been the brunt of my jokes, or the reluctant recipient of some foolish pranks.  But, he has always been a steadfast friend, a dedicated family man, a tireless worker, and a community stalwart.

 

I wish you well, Nick.

 

 

My Sister's Loss

Forgive me for taking the liberty of using this blogspot to extend my sincere best wishes to my "baby" sister, Cheryl Kay, "Peachie," and to her extended family due to the loss of her husband, John O'Connor, early Sunday, December 16, 2012.  Although John had been in ill health for some time, his sudden death came as a complete, and unwelcome surprise for Peachie and the rest of the family.  He will be sorely missed by his many loved ones and friends.

 

Readers of this blog who remember Peachie from her childhood days in North Lewisburg, Ohio, to include members of her North Lewisburg Elementary and Triad High School classes are encouraged to remember her in their prayers, and to send her notes and cards if moved to do so.  I am sure that she will appreciate words of comfort and encouragement at this most difficult time.

 

Her address is:

 

Mrs. Cheryl O'Connor

422 Rock Bay Rd

Commercial Point, OH 43116

 

Funeral arrangements have been made with the Jerry Speaks funeral home on West Broad Street, Columbus, Ohio.  Visiting hours will be this Thursday, December 20th, from 2 - 4 pm and 6 - 8 pm.  The funeral service will be conducted on Friday, Dececember 21st, at 1 PM. 

 

 

People Do Read...And Remember

Believe it or not, I sometimes feel down.  It's not always easy to maintain a bubbling personality and smiling countenance when weighed down with illness and worldly affairs.

Then along comes an unexpected e-mail, card or letter to cheer me up.

Here's one I received recently in response to an earlier blog about William Merle Creviston.

Hi, Ralph.

I was on an email that went to all the Creviston children and grandchildren with the attachment of your great article...below is the email I then sent to all of them.  It brought back wonderful memories of the Crevistons.  Joe (Creviston)  and I were fraternity brothers at Wittenberg (University).

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Hi, everyone.

 

I wanted to reminisce with you all...that "Along Spain Creek" article was just so right-on about Merle and Louise!  I was far from (being) a student and if I have had a successful career and life it is because of a very few men...Bill Edwards, Merle Creviston, Sid Pearlman...not many more.  They all stood for those same values of your Dad and grandfather.

 

Joe and I had just graduated and I am not sure if I asked or if Mr. Creviston just said "Jockey, you will need a car and when you do let me know." [I had my checking account at the bank from 1955 until he retired]  That first car cost $1658.00 total.  I called him and he said "Buy it, just write a check, and when it comes through I will send you the note to sign!"

 

He mailed the 6% simple interest note...payments of $50.00 a month.  The treasurer at Wren's asked me why I hadn't sent the title to the bank.  I said they didn't ask for it.  I bought several cars and never turned in the title to him!

 

That is how he was.  He knew character, and when in doubt the board would have to meet about that requested loan, and afterwards...one of the best family dinners you'd ever be able to have!

 

Today I couldn't finance a car and keep the title...I know that.  If Mr. Creviston trusted you (and he did me) I was a very lucky and fortunate young man.  In the early 70s I was in Europe for a month and overdrew my checking account...not by a lot (and I really didn't know I had).  It was Mr. Creviston who covered the overdraft with his own funds.  He was more worried that maybe I had been robbed or something.  It was my accounting error; I don't think I was ever overdrawn in any bank ever again.

 

I learned so much about personal finances:  Don't use a credit card for more than you know you can pay in full when the bill comes at the end of the month.  Simple interest...don't take out loans on more than you can handle.  Wait awhile and but it when you can afford it.  On and on...I was so lucky to have him in my life at an early age.  He also had me set up a savings account with the bank when I made the last payment on that first car.  "Jockey, just keep making that same $50 payment you did on the car, into this new savings account, and by the time you need another car you will have a big down payment."  I did...and kept doing that with every new car.  By the 3rd car, I could pay cash, and then did so with all my cars...lessons I have never forgotten.

 

The fun and the good food we had, driving from Wittenberg in Joe's car to North Lewisburg for those Sunday dinners...the bridge games afterwards.  He (Merle) most times was my partner, loved to bid...and of course go down a lot, too.  "Well, Jockey...if you had another ace and a king we could have made it!"  That same wink of the eye that he gave the man in church, I got.  Louise would be so annoyed with him.

 

What a great, kind, good man.  I am so fortunate for having known Merle Creviston and Louise.

 

From Malaysia,

 

Jim "Jockey" Arthur